━━━━━━ CHAPTER ELEVEN ━━━━━━
Country Roads Are All We Know
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          THE END OF TIMES WAS A SILENT ORDEAL, much more so than anyone could have ever anticipated. Wind passed over the gas station with a whimpered sound, rolling over the ground a couple of fallen leaves that have travelled all the way from across the deserted street to meet with the litter, blood and guts that painted this pavement on which their stop had added another couple of Walkers with their heads bashed in. Above the station, dark clouds have slowly prolonged the dominion of night over the hours of day, making it indistinguishable to pinpoint exactly what time it was.

A little past noon, Daryl sniffed the air imbued with one pleasant scent hovering above the carnage and decay of the ground; that scent alone was heralding a good rain. He exited the driver's seat of the car to return to the open front. Late autumn, he concluded in his mind the puerile attempt of telling which month it was anymore, then finally threw a quick glance back at the small store of the gas station and its closed door behind which he knew Mallory was surrounded by Walkers she insisted they needn't waste time on taking out.

Inside the little shop, Mallory gathered in a plastic bag salvaged from under the counter just about anything that was not expired and they could use, starting with the last two unopened water bottles, but also including two packs of cherry flavored gum she's been missing since her last pack ran out, a woodsy scented air freshener because sleeping with the window cracked every night in a reeking car was going to get them a good old cold sooner rather than later, and a handful of unopened beef jerky that she appreciated should by all means still be good.

Right as she moved in a ghostly silent fashion past one of the four Walkers in that crammed little store turned upside down by their violent beginnings, she spotted a familiar label on a bottle on the bottom shelf, under some collapsed rubble filled with dried blood and guts. Disgusting as it was, she reached for the bottle of windshield fluid anyway — after the need to defend themselves plastered a big stain of blood on their windshield two days ago, driving has become awfully tedious to the eyes, despite Daryl trying to convince her it wasn't the case.

Though in normal times the travel from Georgia to Maine would have taken them no longer than a day, they were steadily counting the third month on the road and not even half the distance crossed out yet.

They've had a lot of setbacks, apart from the general rule they've set without needing to discuss it, of avoiding all major cities. After the first month on the road, they've added the rule of staying off highways as much as possible too, because between country roads and moving vehicles out of their way all day long, the first one was much more time efficient.

Even still, they've ended up changing cars three times already and a fourth time was probably on the horizon, if Daryl couldn't figure out what was wrong with it. Two out of three times they haven't been fortunate enough to find a working car in the vicinity of their stop, resulting in weeks of uncomfortable camping and tiresome hikes. Given their luck with finding this gas station, Mallory reckoned they wouldn't have to repeat the on-foot journey experience once again.

She pulled the windshield fluid out of the rubble and heard the noise awaken the groans of the Walkers. As soon as she straightened up, the one closest to her was right in her face, a sight rather disgusting, even for a mostly empty stomach — the Walker used to be a till worker at this gas station's store, by his uniform; he got a good layer of skin chewed off of his face, a large chunk of his shoulder completely missing, such that the white of the bone sticking out had yellowed from time and humid air.

Looking down as she waited for the Walker to realize through scent she wasn't "his type", Mallory took note of the name tag — Greg — and the cigarette pack in the chest pocket on which that tag was placed.

"Say, Greg," she spoke on a quiet tone, getting the immediate groan back from the dead in front of her. It bit the air between them, confused by the mismatch between the sound of prey and the scent of predator. "I got my gum, my man got his cigarettes," she continued talking as a means of distraction from the fact that her hand reached forward.

Some Walkers were more erratic than others and though she sure wasn't their desired target, Mallory didn't want to risk losing her hand for the sake of a few minutes gained — having one less finger than normal was enough of a downgrade for her.

"One rarer than the other these days," she grasped the pack of cigarettes from the pocket, feeling it rather heavy, with her right hand; the left, having slid the plastic bag's handles around her wrist, reached for her knife, just in case. "You don't need these anymore, right?"

Successfully dropping the pack of cigarettes in the plastic bag, Mallory slipped relived past the Walker and made one last stop at the till where, as taught by her good manners, she found herself a pen and a piece of paper on which she wrote: ' Four Walkers inside. There's expired beef jerky, magazines. You decide if it's worth it. ' Right as she left the pen on the table where she found it, Mallory caught sight of the fallen over stack of postcards for sale.

"West Virginia?" She picked one up, confused. We're way off track, the thought continued in her mind right before she left store.

As soon as she closed the door behind herself, she stuck the piece of paper in between the glass and the frame. Then, turning her attention to Daryl, Mallory was greeted by a generous sight which took her rather off guard, in the best way possible.

Daryl didn't hear Mallory's steps before he heard her voice, a little flushed with the beginning of a chuckle, "You started heavy lifting since the Apocalypse started, or what?" Her cold hand patted his bare arm as she passed him by to drop their 'groceries' in the backseat, "Don't recall you being this buff when we were dating."

Staring back at him, Mallory was rather surprised to witness his eyes quickly averting, the beginning of a flush somewhere behind the steady line of dirt they both had on them — God, did they need a shower. "Relax, hotshot," she laughed. "It was just a compliment."

Yes, Daryl agreed innerly, a compliment to how I look. Why are you surprised my heart is beating too fast for me to answer, woman?

Fact was, they may have slept in close proximity to each other for the past months, shared almost every single personal thing and trusted their life in the other's hands, but nothing could possibly prepare Daryl for the sporadic compliments Mallory made him that sounded always just a little too close to a flirt, but a little too far from it for him to do anything about it either.

He didn't want to push his luck, though if spending this time alone with her has done anything at all, then that would be confirming to him the feelings from their past relationship were still there, a smoldering fire for her to poke at with random sparks.

"Well," Mallory retrieved the windshield fluid and the pack of cigarettes with a lighter in them for Daryl, then walked over to hand them to him, "a compliment serving as a prelude to me asking you to please put the shirt back on."

"Why?" He didn't even look her in the eyes, mumbling along a 'thanks' for the cigarettes and squinting at the windshield fluid in disapproval.

"'Cause we ain't got meds to treat a cold," she pushed the bottle in his hands too, "so how about you don't get one by trying to impress me, hmm?"

"I ain't tryin'—"

"I know," she cut him off with a bit of laughter lifting the corners of her mouth in the sort of beautiful smile that once Daryl caught a single glimpse at, he couldn't help but continue staring. It was that sort of smile that turned heads whenever they walked into a honky-tonk hand in hand, whenever she came around the trailer park with a basket of homemade goodies that she always made too much of on purpose.

What do you mean you know? His little heartbreak wished of him to inquire, but the louder voice in him told him to stop being a pussy and fix the darn car before she gets a cold, if that's what she's truly worried about.

With such debates happening in his mind, Daryl retorted with only a hum and half a true smile, mostly buried under the illusions of his hair's shadow acting as a curtain once he averted his gaze and focused back on the car.

That focus lasted only too little, because the silence of the gas station was interrupted with a far too distant dead groan to be one coming from the Walkers inside the shop. Not even fully straightened up or aware of where exactly that Walker was, Daryl reached for his crossbow, leant against the wheel of the car.

Mallory's hand came on top of his, "I got this."

Looking up at her, Daryl realized her eyes were already fixed on the source of the sound. He followed her gaze and spotted the Walker across the street, just then stumbling out of the treeline.

"You sure?" He slipped his hand from beneath hers and watched as she picked up his crossbow.

It was an almost unspoken rule between them that he'd be doing most of the fighting. To his easy appreciation, it was safer that way; after all, Mallory has been doing a lot of surviving since the Apocalypse started, but not so much fighting. She never had the need to defend herself from the dead, not really, not like the rest of them had, so Daryl wasn't exactly keen on the idea of having to force her to face the carnage of this new world. As long as he was there, alive and capable, he didn't see a reason as to why she should have to be rapidly initiated in the certain degree of cold blooded behavior people need to survive. But since this was her own initiative, he watched and asked, "Do you still remember how to use it?"

It was just a little heavier than Mallory remembered, perhaps because she was yet to notice he had changed his crossbow from the cheap one he was stuck with for so long. "Of course," she boasted, correcting her posture and lifting the thing up after a quick inspection of all the gears she hadn't a clue what were there for. With the Walker in sight, her finger grazed the stiff trigger and —

"Remove the safety first," Daryl interrupted. "I am pretty sure I taught you better than that on the posture too. Your grip's too loose. Hold it like you mean it if ya gotta do it."

"How about a little encouragement too?" Mallory mumbled her complaint while following his directions and retaking her aim at the slowly approaching Walker.

Daryl tried to mind his business after hearing only her silence to advice she probably took for orders, but much like he couldn't look away from her back when he took her hunting for the first time — an endeavor that gave her old man quite the hard time —, he couldn't help a proper stare this time around either.

No amount of dirt could have tarnished Mallory's beauty, he was certain of it now.

Her finger squeezed the trigger after a short while.

The arrow flew past the Walker.

"Shit," Mallory lowered the crossbow down, squinting ahead at the still live target, clearly disappointed with her aim, or rather the absence of it.

"Better go get that," Daryl muttered, trying not to let his smile sound in his voice. "We're low on ammo."

"Yea," she dismissed him in a heartbeat, far more interested in getting the second arrow knocked back. That action proved to be far more difficult than she would have otherwise anticipated, because though she remembered she should use the leverage, the string was harsh on her hands — if there was a draw assist with the crossbow, she sure couldn't see it.

"Do you need help-?" By the time Daryl decided to move away from the car, Mallory already grunted her defeat and returned to him.

She placed the crossbow in his hands greased from the work on the car, then shook her head to his unfinished offer. "You make this thing look far too easy to use," laughing it off came most naturally to her. Her gaze dropped to his arms, sporting those defined muscles she finally knew how he got. "I'll stick to what I know for now," as an extension of her words, her right hand clutched the handle of her knife, strapped to her belt, "and go get your arrow back, gut the thing on the way there." Mallory nodded in agreement to the plan she was going to go through with, damned be whether or not she left Daryl furrowing his eyebrows down and following her with his eyes only as she walked towards the single groaning corpse in sight.

It was easier to walk away from him than to be faced with admitting that she only wanted to use his crossbow to do what she knew he surely wasn't trying to by removing his shirt from under his vest to work on the car. Yeah, she wanted to impress him and, the further she walked from the gas station, the more her red cheeks were reflecting how illegal it felt that she even tried.

Stabbing in the head the Walker wasn't nearly the hardest thing on her to-do list, but rather finding thay darn arrow through the bushes and on the ground. It was getting darker outside too, helping in no way her sight from spotting that flourescent green end amongst faded autumnal shades. The grey clouds were inching towards a true color of storm.

Mallory had walked rather far from the street, but not quite out of range for Daryl to see her after a proper squint. He was just about to call her back anyway; he could afford losing one arrow, as long as they got back on the road before his quick fix of the car would prove to be untrustworthy.

Right after he shut close the hood of the car, lightning brazed the sky. The quick flash of light finally had the green end of the arrow catch Mallory's eye: it stuck itself in the ground, right down near her foot. She bent over to get it and that's about all she remembered before her consciousness returned to her in the car.

"It was a loud noise," she explained herself, rather confused. "And my sight grew spotty. My ears were ringing." Thankfully, the whirring of the car's engine running, the closed windows around them, and definitely the heavy rain hitting the windshield and falling on top of them, have all diffused the sounds of the storm into a helpful blanket of white noise for her.

"It was thunder," Daryl clarified her confusion. "The sound you heard. You dropped as soon as it happened." He stole a single glimpse at her nodding along. "Say," he looked back ahead, eyes momentarily stopping on the new air freshener dangling by the rear mirror, "how sensitive did your hearing get since...?" He didn't want to say it, How sensitive did your hearing get since your first death?

Mallory shrugged before admitting, "More sensitive than I thought it was. I can hear Walkers, sense them in a way, before I even see them, but back at the prison, at the shootout, it was so much noise I barely remember what happened. I guess loud noises get to me."

Daryl inhaled sharply, prompting her to look at him. He raised his brows and brushed his left hand across his face to hide just how concerning this sensitivity of hers really was to him and how he wished he had known more about it sooner. Should have asked, he scolded himself. Before we got going looking for her brother back home, I should have asked, damn it.

After a short pinch on the bridge of his nose, he dropped his elbow back on the windowsill, "Get some rest. Fixed what could be fixed at the car, should get us to the next town so we can change vehicles or at least get more spare parts to work something out."

"It was your turn to sleep," Mallory was adamant in having him remember. They've been obviously taking turns in keeping watch, never sleeping at the same time, not even while in the car and supposedly 'covered' — neither of them truly believed in finding safety like that anymore.

"We need to keep the engine running." By that, Daryl meant that he had to keep driving, or they risked getting stranded in the middle of nowhere again.

Mallory didn't quite understand why for three months he had avoided having her at the wheel. She's always assumed it had something to do with pride, so of course, she sighed at long last an offer, "I can drive too, you know."

"I know," Daryl reassured her. "But I'd much rather be awake while we're on the move. Stuff could happen." He didn't have it in him to mention the amount of times in which he had to turn them around or change route entirely for the sake of avoiding towns that by his judgement looked unsafe. Raids and road attacks were a thing back before the dead roamed the earth too and he could only assume whatever survivors were left, they didn't let those things go extinct. In all honesty, Daryl simply doubted that Mallory would have the same intuition as him to avoid dangerous places, much as she was distrustful of people. "Just get a quick nap," he sighed, avoiding that explanation he otherwise had well cemented in his mind. "I'll wake you up when we stop for parts and I'll have my sleep then."

It was troubling for her to watch just how easily Daryl choose to disregard his needs. Perhaps he's always been this way and only now that they were forced to be in each other's presence at all times by their exceptional circumstances did she finally realize how quick he is to brush aside the fact that he hasn't eaten properly in a while, or that he was running on as little as two hours of sleep for two days already.

To avoid being hypocritical about this though, Mallory had to realize that she too had her moments of self-deprecating selflessness — placing herself between him and Walkers, willing to take damage on his behalf —, but her death was never going to be final, while his life was precious and singular. She could afford thinking less about herself, because she had little worry of not surviving to begin with, but he, by her own calculations, shouldn't be so careless, not for anyone, but especially not for her. Something as small as improper nutrition or lack of sleep could turn out to be deadly.

A paradox surely was at play, because though her heart broke at his recklessness with himself, that idea that he was doing it for her sake, despite knowing too well that she was safe from most deadly situations, swelled her soul with warmth, with safety, with just about enough joy that she was grateful to have him there. Even with more miles ahead of them, she was aware she would have never made it this far without him. Dropping her guard was a privilege that Daryl helped her have and she would be equally as hypocritical to refuse the gift he was bestowing upon her then.

He couldn't have known it, but for the past three months, sleep had started coming to her easier thanks to him. Instead of waiting for exhaustion to make her faint into a much needed rest, Mallory had grown more confident in closing her eyes, in leaning her head back, propping her temple on the car seat and losing herself, sigh by sigh, to the dark unknown she otherwise despised. An air filled with the sound of his breath, to the scent of his cigarettes he puffed every so often and the faint woodsy perfume of the air freshener, reassured her that the darkness was sleep, not death.

This ambiance eased Mallory into her nap, supposed to be short.

Daryl was at peace within the sound of silence being filled with her soft sighs. For those hours in which Mallory was asleep and he drived, he could pretend he wasn't on the lookout for dangers on the street and that this was in fact a perfect world, where nothing bad has happened to them yet. Like most people do, Mallory's features found tranquility in her sleep and he'd be a liar not to admit he stole every once in a while glimpses at her only to find himself utterly mesmerized by his luck to have her there with him again, a second chance he has hoped for but never thought he'd deserve.

Had anyone else asked him to travel with them across the states, he'd have told them to fuck off and take their delusions someplace else 'cause trips like these get people killed. But for Mallory... That was a different story. She was the last family he had left, be that a family that never came to be the way he had hoped it would.

The first element of disaster was Daryl's first yawn.

AUTHOR'S NOTE : 
         Gotta love how Mals and Daryl do so much couple stuff already, but they are sooo blind to it all. Guess all the surviving takes away from their perception of a good flirt.

Either way, I am already five chapters into this act, and lemme tell you, it is very much action packed !! Filled to the brim with Mals and Daryl getting relationship upgrades and generally sooo much fun cause finally, I can let my imagination run wild with things, not stick word for word and scene for scene with what happened in the show.